Her Fire
by UraniumBound
Summary: Just something that might be going through Pyro's head during an everyday match. I wrote this before I actually played tf2 so yes there are a lot of inconsistencies but please bear with me on that. Is this a one shot? Is this a multichapter? I have no clue. Reviews are hugely appreciated.


Luca couldn't have asked for anything more, personally.

The sky was orange and black, the flittering cinders speckling the sky like her very own stars. The more she took in the sight of the crackling world around her; the beauty and the true heat and the way her asbetos suit made her sweat like a pig, the less she cared about the general outcry of the BLU team. It was little more than white noise.

Her finger tightened lazily around the trigger of the gun as the barrel bucked and a bullet pierced the scout's head like a precision needle. He fell with a thud, his shirt barely grazing over a flaming debris pile, but that was all it took. The smell of the scout's burning flesh intermingled with the rest of the BLU team.

They smelled bitter.

She didn't hate them, not like her Soldier and Scout. But whenever they got in her way they had an unpleasant habit of burning just so that they smelled like poisonous plants, almost. Like coal. Like a charred piece of processed wood. It gave her satisfaction, but that didn't mean she liked the way BLU rested in her nostrils.

On the occasion that she burned her own team though, she found that the situation had been much the opposite.

She had set her own team's Spy on fire one day, out of irritation at his stupid, barely-lit cigarrete. The flame was so small, it's potential unfulfilled. And she really hadn't meant to hurt him, but that didn't matter. The RED team, she found, burns sweet. Like cherry trees. Like burning walnuts with their shells on fall evenings. They were nice. BLU Pyro, whoever he was, had it good. But that didn't mean she wold revolt because RED happened to burn better.

The landscape was so beautifully dry. Straw and old wood was her friend today. The map that they were fighting on was one of her favorites, so she made no grunt of complaint when they were told to charge and slice their way to the BLU point.

The Scout's body was past her now, owing to the fact she needed to step over it and hand over the satisfaction to keep moving behind Heavy. Her goggled eyes drifted upward again, her smoke, her fire. Red was the color of fire and she probably couldn't have asked for more, to be anywhere else at that moment. Cinders drifted and one landed on her suit, extinguishing with nothing so much as a sliver of smoke. Her trigger clicked and suddenly the BLU Soldier that had previously come to slice her scarred neck off with his rusty shovel was screaming to the air as his shoulder bled like a gushing waterfall, the thick gooey paint squirting out from underneath his fingers.

She had a better idea for his fate, though. While Heavy was taking care of the front, Demo and her Soldier were taking care of the left and right side of his Medic. She took the back, and like it was a third arm she drew her homemade flamethrower and aimed none too carefully, as fire didn't really care where it was aimed, only the general direction. And she liked that.

She registered vaguely how the Soldier's hand, clutcing his wound had raised in a second of poor defense and tried to back up. He was screeching in a little less than that time as the fire was blasted onto his face and caught it's sharp fingers into his flesh, digging in and staying there, eating away at his thread and his now blackened and shriveling skin like a shifting red demon. He was gone as well, and the Soldier was nothing more than a torn and charred version of his meat suit. It fell to its knees and dropped with a thud that was drowned out to the sound of war.

They were almost to the point now, breaking through the defenses with a fully ubered Heavy pummeling fresh, steaming bullets into the nearest BLU that crossed his line of sight.

Demo was gone. The BLU team's Pyro suddenly entered her vision wielding his fireaxe, bringing it down from a swing that took Tavish's head clean off. Her stomach began to boil. Her hands, previously relaxed were now shaking with the kind of fire only he could have lit.

How dare he.

How DARE he step in and make an ugly, blueberry, bitter stain on HER masterpiece, HER work. HER FIRE.

RED Soldier was gone, now too. As soon as the uber ran out of time, they would both be defenseless in the smack middle of BLU territory. The fact that they were so achingly close to the point barely crossed her mind as she saw him draw his pistol.

She aimed just as he did, the world playing in blurry slow motion as they both pointed at eachother with weapons in hand. There wasn't any time for her to be thinking about it, she had to act. But the masterpiece-ruiner pulled first. Her body was jarred from the force of the shot, knocking her backward and blasting a hole through her arm. He hated aim just as much as her, it seemed.

She clenched her teeth in agony and by instinct sprayed outward a blast of fire in a fan, but she knew it was useless, seeing as he was also just as fireproof as she. It knocked him back as far as the shot did her, though.

Medic and Heavy were now ahead, their back defense now gone. So much for their plan.

An axe came down on her but it collided with a metallic clang as it hit the thick barrel of her flamethrower instead of her torso. She pushed him backwards as hard as she could manage and stood, taking out the axe and sheathing the thrower to retaliate just as he swung twice.

The bastard said something unintelligible as he swung again. She ducked, the axe barely grazing her. She was just backing up now and she knew it. He was driving her towards death and if she wanted to die on her precious battlefield, it was not going to be at his hands.

He raised it again, far above his head, confident in her fear.

Fuck him.

She ducked, bending her legs. Taking a leap of faith Luca jabbed the axe straight into his stomach, creating an instant gush of red that thankfully did as much staining as him. It buried nicely in his guts with the sound akin to a wet crunch, and she took a grip on the handle farther down and dug it in, causing him to tremble and drop the axe. Which, fortunately for her, had been so high over his inflated head that it dropped behind him, not in front.

His entire body shook, his mask dripped blood that tapped onto her head like rain and she took this as her cue to quickly withdraw, forcing the limp body backward. It thudded on the ground like a useless sack of flour.

She wouldn't burn him.

She hated the way BLUs smelled.


End file.
